


what a way to torture him

by Profundus



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, M/M, Masturbation, distorted relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:13:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27934420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Profundus/pseuds/Profundus
Summary: It's not really sexual or romantic but definitely not platonic either and they just don't talk about anything, ever.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Miya Osamu
Comments: 4
Kudos: 75





	what a way to torture him

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tisapear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisapear/gifts).



Osamu comes home and sees the shoes kicked across the hallway and Atsumu knows he'll have his head for doing that again, but when Osamu paces to the living room, there is no recipient for that to-be-expected annoyance in his eyes, his voice _(Ya just hafta do it every time, no?)_ so he throws his bag down.

"Tsumu," he says, not loud enough to even warrant a response from his twin, loud enough to announce his arrival as he presses on, deeper into the flat they share and where they live past each other.

He's itching to know why the smell of sex is coming from their bedroom _(not that I'd care not that it's uncommon)_ and why Atsumu is in bed already when he's the one awake 'til midnight with eyes glassy like chips of crystal in the sand and staring at and through the TV screen like he's craving the world behind a wall of glass and wires where the biggest issue of society is how to overthrow the government and not two brothers kissing in the confines of a room—

"Ya couldn't stay out just ten minutes longer, couldya."

There's no comparison to coming back from work and finding the little snot-nosed-still-older brat in his bed, the place where Osamu curls up and touches himself to the mental image of exactly _this_ but that's all he wants it to be, a mental image, not bittersweet reality.

At least Atsumu doesn't sound surprised as he sighs and rolls over but doesn't stop stroking his dick with the same glassy shimmer in his eye that tells Osamu he's painfully delighted at the fact that his little brother has to witness the glisten on his hand and the deep-rooted desire in his chest as he presses his nose into the pillow and inhales the scent that's always been Osamu and always been there for him to abuse as he likes.

Osamu feels dirty for smelling like himself.

He wants to ask what Atsumu is doing in his bed, but the answer to that question is too obvious to guarantee he would be the victim of jabs and jokes and whispers he doesn't want to hear for a long time after, so he shuts his mouth and tosses his keys to the floor.

"I'm home," he says as if it's the natural thing to say, which it is considering that he's just gotten here.

"Yea yea, I can see that, ya know." Atsumu breathes the word against the cotton layers of the sheets around him and curls his fingers just a little tighter, like he has to uphold an image in his head that Osamu is steadily bringing to a crumble.

Which he decides is the best way to get rid of the aching vulnerability currently sprawled out on his bed. He doesn't want to see Atsumu with his walls down. That only means he'll see the things they've been hiding from each other and from themselves, and Osamu doesn't think he'll ever be ready for that.

He wants to rest, wants to get off his feet, wants to prove to Atsumu that if it comes to willpower, he's the one who takes the throne between them. Which wouldn't be so bad if Atsumu didn't leave it to him willingly, scooting over to make space when Osamu strips his shirt and jeans and crawls into bed with him just because he can, because it's his damn bed and what does it matter that Atsumu sighs against his skin and the soft, wet noises continue behind his back.

"Get out of my bed. Yer leaving me like, an inch of the mattress."

"I'm comfy."

They've shared a bed many times, so many that Osamu can't even conjure up a number in his head, but that doesn't matter when Atsumu moves to claw his hips with his free hand and pulls him closer. It rubs against his synapses the wrong way, but he lets him.

Osamu doesn't do weird things. Atsumu does weird things, and Osamu lets him. Maybe even enables him, but he can't tell the difference. What a way to torture him.

His own shorts are straining, dick twitching in its confines, but he refuses to touch himself. Not when Atsumu is lazily panting against his naked shoulders. It's repulsive that he gets off to touching his younger brother, but Osamu gets off to being touched in return, so it's not as bad, or so it feels.

The twilight of the room, obscured by blinds and curtains, doesn't help with the prickling sensation just inside his chest where he supposes his heart should be.

"Do ya always jerk off in my bed?"

"Only when yer not home. Kinda hard to even get it up with yer ugly mug around."

If it were like usual, Osamu would hit him over the head, but he keeps staring into the dark and tries to block out the noise of wet skin on skin. Just so he won't turn around and shove Atsumu down into his mattress in his bed in his sheets and make him spread his legs and take matters into his own hands, literally, and watch those pretty lashes flutter, watch his shock dissolve into smug satisfaction and—

Maybe this explains why he hates Atsumu so much sometimes, why he despises him, why he wishes they weren't even brothers in the first place.

Maybe it's just because they're so similar that it scares him.

Maybe because those similarities go beyond looks and hobbies, maybe it's because it's in this bed where they fuck at least a few times a week, if only in his head, their heads, their imaginations, and Osamu hates that Atsumu is the same.

He knows the noises his brother is now breathing against his back, knows that small hitch, that small stutter in his breath because he's heard it from the upper bunk for all their teenage years, knows it's a telltale sign that the erratic, stifled gasps will subside soon and Atsumu will wipe his hand and roll over and fall asleep, sated and restless still the same because just like Osamu, he wants something else.

"Samu," Atsumu groans quietly, and it tempts him so badly, tempts him to just reach back, but he denies himself that satisfaction of giving in, sibling-induced arrogance getting the better of him as Atsumu ruts against him, warm-wet hand lightly brushing Osamu's skin.

Maybe it's because of that, maybe not, but Atsumu's breath hitches yet again and he snaps his hips forward, buries his face against the nape of Osamu's neck and drowns his high-pitched whine in silver-black hair as he comes and Osamu thinks it's too much for him to take.

Atsumu is loud, louder than Osamu remembers him being when he's still attempted to be quiet, to hide what he's doing from his twin in their shared bunk bed in their old room. Osamu wonders if he'd been quiet back then too if Atsumu had tried to touch him like this.

Now though, Atsumu pulls back and Osamu hogs the sheets from him to hide his face in them. Still, Atsumu doesn't get up, just rolls over. Back to back, how they've slept all their life, all the time Osamu hasn't felt dirty for breathing in Atsumu's proximity. Even after what just happened, Atsumu can go back to normality so fast, so carelessly. Osamu tries not to reach down and touch himself.

What a way to torture him.

**Author's Note:**

> Lol this was such a spur-of-the-moment idea


End file.
